I thanked him. Though an autocrat, he was yet a humane and just ruler—when he was allowed to exercise justice, which, unfortunately, was but seldom.
“My journey had a tragic sequel in Yakutsk, Sire,” I said presently, “and upon my return to England I was met with still another misfortune—a misfortune upon which I desire to consult Your Imperial Majesty.”
“What?” he asked, opening his eyes widely. “A further misfortune?”
“I regret to be compelled to report that her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia has disappeared,” I said in a low voice.
His dark, heavy brows narrowed, his cheeks went pale, and his lips compressed.
“Disappeared!” he gasped. “What do you mean? Describe this latest escapade of hers—for I suppose it is some ridiculous freak or other?”
“I fear not, Sire,” was my reply. Then, having described to him the facts as I have related them here to you, my reader, omitting, of course, all reference to Richard Drury, I added: “What I fear is that Her Highness has fallen victim to some revolutionary plot.”
“Why? What motive can the revolutionary party have in making an attempt upon her—a mere giddy girl?”
“The fame motive which incited the attempt in Petersburg, in which her lamented father lost his life,” was my quiet reply.
His Majesty touched a bell, and in answer Stoyanovitch appeared upon the threshold and saluted.